


Subterfuge

by dracsmith



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 07:49:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracsmith/pseuds/dracsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trap for Orac becomes a trap for the crew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the print fanzine Southern Seven, issue 7, in 1992.
> 
> The most episode-like of the stories that I wrote in this fandom. Technobabble, mild Avon-torture. 
> 
> Focus is on Avon; some Avon/Cally and Avon/Servalan UST and Avon-Blake h/c, but the centerpiece is actually the relationship between Avon and Gan.

Blake was getting tired of arguing with Orac. "If you cannot understand the problem," the computer said testily, "consult someone who can!"

Blake sighed. "Look, all I understand is that you're frantic and you expect us to help you. You could be just a little bit nicer about it."

Orac sniffed. "It is not my function to be nice. It is my function to be correct." It paused, and then said reluctantly, "Please ask Avon for his advice on this matter. It is of some importance."

Blake bit back a sarcastic reply. Orac's sudden humility had him worried. "All right, all right," he said, and restrained an urge to give the little machine a reassuring pat. "I'll go find Avon."

It was Avon's shift, so he headed for the flight deck. As he neared the entrance he heard voices, and paused to listen.

"The highest level is a very strong stun," Avon was explaining to Gan. "You can see the seam here on the handle where I had to take it apart, so you'll always know which one's yours. But this weapon can't kill anymore."

"How nice, Avon, that you're spending your free time doing odd jobs for your friends," Blake said lightly, stepping down onto the flight deck. He put Orac's problem aside for the moment; this was more interesting, possibly more dangerous. "May I see this, Gan?"

"Of course."

Blake motioned Gan to stand a little farther off. Mystified, the giant obeyed. When he was sure he wouldn't be overheard, Blake spoke very softly. "I suppose it has occurred to you that Gan trusts you implicitly. You could easily be lying to him, using this as a trick to try to bypass that limiter he has."

"It crossed my mind."

"Then I hope it also crossed your mind that there would be incredible psychological repercussions the first time he used it to kill someone." Blake hefted the blaster in his hand, eying the rebuilt handle, and then levelled it directly at Avon. "If not, then I'm out one computer expert."

Avon yawned. "Go ahead, try it out. I could use the rest." He met Blake's eyes for a long moment.

Blake lowered the weapon. "Perhaps Gan's trust is not ill-placed, after all." He tossed it to Gan, who caught it with a puzzled look.

"Thank you," said Avon. When Blake didn't leave, he asked, "Was there anything else?"

"Actually, yes," Blake said. "When your shift is over, would you come to the rest room? Orac has a problem I'd like to discuss with you."

"Orac?" Avon sounded puzzled. "Orac has a problem?" He looked directly at Gan, a questioning look.

"I can finish your shift, if you'd like," Gan offered. Avon flashed him a brief, warm smile, and left with Blake.

As they walked down the corridor, Blake explained, "Orac is afraid that the Federation has discovered how to make a Zeta-Beam generator. Whatever it is, he's deathly afraid of it."

"The Zeta Beam is a myth," Avon said firmly as they turned into the recreation area. "Voodoo technology. There is no such device."

"Correction," hummed Orac. "There was no such device. Federation communications which I have intercepted reveal that a functioning Zeta Beam will soon be activated on the planet Forsitan."

Blake pulled out Orac's key and turned to Avon. "Orac is very upset about this. I made the mistake of asking him exactly what it was."

Avon actually chuckled. "And I suppose you got an interminable lecture on the dynamics of antiphlegistatic particulation, or some such nonsense."

"Yes," Blake admitted, "and I didn't understand a word of it."

"That's because it's meaningless gobbledygook. A Zeta Beam is a worst-case scenario for programming exercises. What if there were an imaginary device that scrambles tarial cells? --It inspires young computer students to design failsafes. Of course all the failsafes necessarily depend on the stability of the tarial cell. Nor, by the way, is any student able to come up with a design for a working Zeta Beam. So the experiment turns into an object lesson on the supreme importance of Ensor's invention."

"Then if a Zeta Beam did exist," mused Blake, "there is no defense against it. And I suppose that Orac would be especially susceptible, since he taps directly into tarial cells."

"Yes. Most computers use interfaces, so the Zeta Beam would affect only one computer. But if Orac tapped into a damaged database. . . ."

Blake finished the thought. "Orac is going to become paranoid. He'll be afraid to hook into any computer."

"But the Zeta Beam does not exist! It's purely a thought experiment." Avon paced. "It can only be a trap, designed particularly for him--and us."

"Orac doesn't think so."

"No, he wouldn't. All right. If we don't go, we lose the use of Orac. If we do go, we shall probably fall into a trap. Either way, we lose. Not a very constructive dilemma."

"Then I, for one, prefer action." Blake spoke decisively, moving out of the room and into the corridor.

Avon caught up with him. "You would."

Blake ignored him as they entered the flight deck. "Take us to Forsitan, Zen. Standard by Six."

*****

Forsitan, as Zen informed them, was a heavy-industry planet, entirely automated. Supply ships arrived periodically to dump raw materials into the smelters and pick up the finished machine components. Inspectors stopped by once a year to ensure that the plants were operating at maximum efficiency; the last inspection had been made three months ago.

"Are there any life forms on the planet, Zen?" asked Blake.

The great computer hummed and shimmered. "None detectable. However, the high concentration of metals, both in raw form and in the machinery, can obscure sensor readings.

"Wonderful," said Jenna. "There could be a whole legion of Federation troopers skulking around down there and we'd never know."

"You're right, Jenna," said Vila quickly. "This whole thing smacks of danger. To say nothing of idiocy."

"Please, Vila, say nothing of idiocy." drawled Avon. "Better yet, say nothing at all. Zen, is there any evidence of a. . . ."he paused, reluctant to give Orac's wild claim credibility, "Zeta Beam generator?"

"Negative."

Avon flashed Blake an I-told-you-so look. Ignoring him, the rebel leader pressed, "Is there any indication of unusual computer activity?"

Zen paused, flashing for a moment. "Affirmative. A heavily-shielded complex which is no more than a few months old appears to be drawing an enormous amount of power in a configuration consistent with experimental computer design."

"How can Zen tell that?" asked Jenna, curious. "I mean, how can you tell it's a computer from the way it draws power?" Everyone looked at Avon.

But it was Vila who answered suddenly, "Computers need an especially smooth power supply. No spikes, no surges, no interruptions. Now something like Zen can cope with the occasional idiosyncrasy, but a new computer being tested, that isn't fully constructed, practically has to be bottle-fed if the compensatory superstructure hasn't been added yet."

Everyone stared at him. Avon recovered first. "I suppose this information is useful to the successful picking of computerized locks. Interrupt the power supply at the wrong moment and--bang --creamed chipped thief on toast."

Vila's triumphant smirk faded. "You needn't put it quite so vividly."

Blake grinned at the two of them, and turned his attention back to Zen. "Can you give us teleport coordinates to this computer area?"

"Affirmative," said Zen. "Transferring grid coordinates to teleport console."

"Right," Blake said briskly. "Jenna, I need you to stay ready to get the ship out of orbit if anything appears. Cally, you operate the teleport. Avon, Vila, Gan, come with me."

***

 

Zen's coordinates were accurate as usual; they materialized in corridor right outside a door marked, "Zeta Beam prototype construction: Authorized Personnel Only."

"Why don't they just have a welcome mat spread out?" said Avon with disdain. "What unauthorized personnel are they expecting, anyway?"

"Us," grinned Blake. Avon glared at him.

Vila examined the door and began working on it. "Something's not right about this," he said after less than a minute. "The lock's too easy."

"Why is it that when things are in our favor something has to be wrong?" wondered Gan.

"Ah-ha," said Vila softly. "Look up there." He pointed to the top of the door. "See those runners along the side there? Blast shield doors just waiting to slam down. Not connected to the main lock. Probably only for emergencies--they figure this will do the rest of the time." He stepped back, blew on his fingers, and poked the lock one last time. The door opened.

The computer room was utilitarian, featureless and gray. A black and silver jumble at the far end was the only candidate for the computer itself. "Much as I hate to admit it, Vila's right," said Avon. "Something's still not right about this. I want the rest of you back out there."

"Don't tell me you're concerned for our safety," said Vila.

"Not in the least. I prefer to work without the distraction of idiots. If I must have the lot of you around, I want you at my back. Preferably guarding it." He squatted down in front of the computer and proceeded to ignore him. Blake shared a smile with Gan and Vila, waved them back out the door, then followed. Avon was still muttering to himself.

Suddenly he turned. "Blake, it's all wrong. This computer can't possibly be a Zeta-Beam control. It's an obsolete Mark Seven with some extra gadgetry added to make it look impressive. Blake! It's a--" He was interrupted as the blast doors came down.

Blake thumbed his communicator immediately. "Cally, bring us up." As they materialized he looked around. "Where's Avon?"

"He wasn't teleported."

"Damn! That room must be teleport-shielded! It was all an elaborate..."

"Trap," concluded Avon to himself, looking around the computer room.


	2. Chapter 2

There must be another entrance, through which guards would probably come surging through at any moment. He drew his blaster.

"Drop it!" came a sharp voice behind him. "Or I'll kill you where you stand." He whirled around, and a panel opened in the wall behind him. There stood Travis at the head of a group of mutoids. Avon dropped his weapon.

"You're the computer expert, aren't you? Where are the others?" Avon ignored him. "I wanted Blake, you know. You're expendable. You don't matter."

"I'll just have to do."

"Blake!" shouted Jenna as he entered the control room. "Five pursuit ships have come around from the other side of the planet!"

"Can we outrun them?"

"I think so--but it will put the planet out of our sensor range. If they take Avon off, we won't know where he's gone."

Blake thought hard for a moment. "Yes, but we can't rescue him at all if we're blown into so much space debris. And we can't hold off five ships. Take us out of orbit, Jenna." He cursed under his breath. What was happening to Avon?

Travis was gloating. "Your friends are too busy to rescue you, you know. I've sent the rest of my squadron after them. Oh, they'll probably outrun them; they might even blow them up--but it doesn't matter. You see, I've got you, and you're going to tell me every little thing you know about Blake and this whole operation. You'll lead me right to them."

"Optimistic, aren't you, Travis?"

Travis cocked his head to one side. "Oh, no. Realistic. I've seen Federation Interrogation at work. You'll be taken to the new Human Resources Research Complex. Our best--or I should say, our worst--people are there. Furthermore, it's totally isolated in a remote sector, and it has our new detector shields around it. Your friends could blunder right past it and never, ever find you." Travis smiled.

*****

They wouldn't ask him any questions. They would strap him into the damned machine and turn it on, and then they would just leave him there. Sometimes it was set for disorientation. That was the worst. Pain he could handle, but the constant feeling of falling, through flashes and pulses of surreal perspectives, spinning, twisting, all inside his mind, made him want to scream, "I'll tell you anything. Just let me be still." But they never asked. They were waiting, of course. Just softening him up. For Servalan.

Wherever they were it was a long way off. He had overheard that it would take her at least a week to get here. And it was shielded, supposedly invisible to ships' detectors. He didn't dare hope that the Liberator could find him. Those silly games he'd played with Cally, hide-and-seek in the lower decks, trying to get some practical use out of that vague sense of presence she had; she could find him about half the time, and she was getting better at it... No! Don't hope, he told himself. Blake can't find you. The best hope is to goad them into killing you before Servalan gets here. Any time a guard showed up, with food or water or orders to take him down again, he would impugn the Federation, the guard's personal ancestry and sexual preferences, earning a number of bruises and a great deal of resentment. But his intentions would vanish when they strapped him in, and his mind would scream for her, calling, Cally, Cally, across trackless space.

*****

Cally had dozed off on the flight deck. Zen was flying the ship on automatic, in a hopeless, sector-by-sector search pattern that Blake had ordered. Wherever Avon was, Servalan would be going, so if they couldn't find him, perhaps they could find her, and follow. But it seemed that they would never find what they were looking for in time. Orac was monitoring, decoding, and sifting through all of Federation communications , but there was nothing to give them a clue. The humming of the engines and the ticking-over of the sensors had lulled her into a light sleep. Suddenly she heard Avon's voice, "Cally! Cally!" and then she felt what he was feeling. She woke up screaming.

"Cally!" Blake and Jenna ran pounding down the corridors onto the flight deck, followed more slowly by a yawning Vila. Jenna reached her first. "What is it, Cally? You were screaming!"

"No, no," Cally said, confused. "It was Avon. He is over there," she pointed, "and he is screaming. I fell asleep, and I could hear him... I cannot hear him anymore. But it was from that way." She pointed again. Blake, standing behind Cally's chair, caught Jenna's eye with a questioning look. She nodded and moved to the pilot's position.

"Zen," she snapped, "release navigation to manual control." She gripped the controls and began to set course in the direction Cally had given. After a moment she looked down at the Auron and said, "Is this the right way?"

"Relax, Cally," suggested Blake, still standing by her chair. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. After a moment she opened them and nodded.

"This is the right way. But it's a long way off." She frowned in thought. "I don't normally sense people like that. But his thoughts are being boosted somehow--he must be in one of those interrogation machines that affect the mind--and I was just in the right state of semi-consciousness."

"Also known as sleeping on duty," Blake grinned down at her. Then he added more gently, "And you're very close to Avon." She looked down quickly, but he thought he saw a blush. He paused suddenly, as if struck by a thought. "Cally, can you reach his mind? Send a message?"

"I could try," she said, and narrowed her eyes in concentration.

"Don't," he said sharply. Her eyes widened abruptly.

"Why ever not?"

"Yes, Blake, why not?" asked Vila. "Sounds cruel to me. Depriving a man in prison of aid and succor and all that."

"You of all people should know, Vila," Blake snapped with unaccustomed harshness. "You've been under interrogation. So have I. No one can hold out against those machines." He paused with a shudder, as if remembering newly-recovered horrors in his mind. He went on more gently. "If he knows we're coming, they will, too. I'm sorry, Cally. But I can't let you endanger our chances of rescuing him." She nodded sadly.

 

*****

They had been travelling for five days. "Are we getting there, Cally?" Blake asked.

"I don't know anymore. I cannot tell."

Jenna looked up, alarmed. "Is he dead?"

"No, I would know that for sure. I'm just worried. This place supposedly has the best deflector shield the Federation has got. What if we go right past it? We'd never see it out here."

"Are you sure we're not past it already?"

Cally thought hard. Her face was drawn and weary. "Yes, I am sure. But we're pretty close, and I have lost any definite bearing."

"Great," said Vila. "You mean we have to wait for them to mess with his mind some more before we can find him. Never thought I'd be wishing that on anyone!"

Blake smiled ruefully. "Me neither. But we don't seem to have anything else to go on."

Gan spoke up. "Won't Servalan be heading the same way as us? Why don't we just wait here for her and follow?"

"Oh, Gan," said Jenna, exasperated. "It just can't be that simple. We don't know which direction she's coming from!"

"Well," mused Blake, "she's got to be coming from the inhabited part of the galaxy behind us, more or less. When you're this far out, there's really only one way back." He got out of his seat, picked up a pointer, and walked over to the screen. "Let's establish a parking orbit around that asteroid, and put detectors on continuous long-range scan. That'll give us warning of her long before she spots us; then we can hang back and follow her. Good idea, Gan."

Vila slapped his friend on the back, then suddenly turned. "What if Servalan doesn't show up?"

Blake's face became grim. "Then we'll have to depend on Cally--and the interrogators."

Half a day later, Servalan showed up. Her command vessel was easily spotted, as were the two ships riding shotgun behind her. The Liberator eased out of orbit behind her, just out of her sensor range. "That's odd," Jenna said suddenly. "Servalan usually travels with a complement of at least three."

Blake shrugged. "There could be any number of reasons why one is missing. What are you getting at, Jenna?"

"Just this," the pilot said. "We need to establish orbit around a well-guarded Federation base. It must require some sort of clearance. What if Servalan just requests positions for herself and her group--without specifying exactly how many she has? We could just sail right in with the others."

"You mean, we slip in on her coattails?" ask Vila incredulously. "Don't you think they'll notice a bloody big ship like this? You could put her pursuit ships in Hold B!"

"It depends on what kind of detectors they have down on the planet," said Jenna. "They may be using simple blips to indicate number of ships. My guess is that the detector shield will fuzz readings inside as well as out."

Blake frowned. "There's an awful lot of variables in your plan, Jenna, but I don't see a better way of doing it. Once we're inside the detector shield, can you get us into an orbit where Servalan can't detect us? And plot an escape route?"

"Piece of cake," Jenna assured him. And so they continued to follow Servalan. As her ship began requesting clearance for approach to the Human Resources Research Complex, the Liberator slipped into position behind her two pursuit ships. Servalan's pilots were too busy navigating through the detector screen to scan behind them for strange ships. A technician on the planet did notice the number of ships, however.

"I thought Servalan requested clearance for three ships, ma'am," he told his commanding officer. "I count four."

"She must have meant herself, plus three escorts. That's how she usually travels." As the technician began to protest, she added, "Would you like to call and inform the Supreme Commander that her arithmetic is imperfect?" The technician shook his head.

*****

Servalan frowned as the guards frog-marched Avon into the interrogation chamber, looking pale and thin in the oversized prison uniform. "Gently, gently!" she snapped. "I told you, I want this one pretty."

"We're sorry, Supreme Commander, but he wouldn't come... "

"Oh, I can't imagine why," she purred. "It's so nice for old friends to get together and chat. Isn't it, my dear Avon?"

He regarded her with contempt. "Just get on with it," he said tiredly.

"You're just not getting into the spirit of this, are you?" she reprimanded him sweetly. She turned to the guards. "Strip him!"

As she must have hoped, that brought a response. "Allow me," said Avon. "I only wish this could be under different circumstances." She returned his smile with one no more sincere, and waved the guards to stand aside. He pulled the loose white shirt off first, over his head with deliberate slowness and a tantalizing smile, then stood for a moment holding it as if to toss it to Servalan like a stripteaser. Suddenly he threw it over the head of the nearest guard and grappled with the confused man for his weapon.

Of course he was unsuccessful. The other guard came over to help his mate. Overpowered, Avon kept struggling and the second guard raised his weapon. "Don't shoot, you fool!" cried Servalan, and the guard struck him with it instead, slamming him against the wall. Everything went hazy as he slid to the floor, vaguely aware of the vertical trail of blood he was leaving.


	3. Chapter 3

"Idiot!" hissed Servalan. "That's exactly what he was hoping for! He can't be interrogated while he's unconscious! And if he dies, I'll kill you myself!"

"That won't be necessary, Supreme Commander," said a new voice. "If he dies, I'll kill you." She turned to look at the doorway.

"Blake!" Then she realized that he was just standing there, his weapon undrawn, and cried, "Seize him!"

"I wouldn't try that if I were you," said Vila, stepping into the doorway on one side of Blake, blaster trained directly on Servalan. Gan stepped in on the other side, his weapon aimed at the guards. "One move from you," Vila continued, "and she dies." The guards backed away.

Servalan smiled at him and spoke, ostensibly to Vila, but with her eyes directly on her guards.. "I don't know why you've given the big one a gun," she said conversationally. "He can't use it. He has a limiter." One of the guards met her eyes and she shook her head fractionally as if to say, "Not yet."

Blake crossed the room to where Avon lay in a crumpled heap on the floor and knelt beside him. Avon tried to lift his head. "Blake?" he whispered weakly.

Blake put a hand on his shoulder. "Lie still," he ordered. Lifting Avon's arm, he snapped a teleport bracelet around it .

Servalan noticed that Vila's attention had strayed to Blake and Avon. "Now!" she snapped. Both guards rushed at Gan. Vila spun and fired, shooting down one of them, but the other continued toward the big man.

Gan fired. The guard dropped in his tracks. There was a stunned silence.

Still crouched by Avon, Blake activated his communicator. "Cally, teleport now."

"You mean I don't get to kill Servalan?" asked Vila just before he disappeared.

"Maybe next time," Gan answered cheerfully as they materialized.

"They're up, Jenna," Cally reported briskly into the intercom. The ship's normal hum changed pitch as Jenna gunned the engines to standard by 12 on the planned escape route. Cally turned back to the party on the teleport platform and her face changed. "Avon?"

Blake looked up at her worried face and forced a smile. "I think he'll be all right, Cally. Go on ahead to the medical unit and get things ready. I'll have Gan carry him there." She looked at him for a long moment--long enough to see the uncertainty and concern hiding behind his eyes--nodded, and set off. Gan came over to Avon's side, bent down and lifted him lightly in his arms.

Vila had left the platform when they materialized. Now he came running back, holding Orac. "I think he can help, Blake. Should I bring him?" Blake nodded and they walked with Gan to the medical unit.

Cally plugged Orac into the diagnostic unit. "It was a good idea to bring Orac, Vila. Thank you," she said with a smile.

"Will Avon be all right, Cally?" Vila asked.

"I think so, Vila," she said. She looked directly at Blake. "Physically there is nothing we can't repair. We won't know the full extent of the mental damage until Orac finishes his scan."

Orac chose that moment to beep smugly. "Diagnostic scans complete."

"Well?" Blake asked.

"Would you like to know the results?"

"Would you like to be pulverized?" asked Vila under his breath.

"Oh, very well," Orac harrumphed. "Subject has been subjected to approximately one week of preliminary Federation interrogation. Purpose: to disorient the subject and prepare him for further experimentation. No permanent damage appears to have been done."

Blake sighed with relief. "Cally, I'd better be up on the flight deck with Jenna in case something nasty comes up. Can you manage here?"

"I'll help," Vila chirped.

"Thank you, Vila," said Cally with a tired smile. Blake beckoned to Gan and they left for the flight deck.

*****

"He will be disoriented," warned Cally as she and Vila prepared to leave the medical unit several hours later. "I know you are tired, Blake, but he shouldn't wake up alone..."

"And you've been with him for a long time," Blake added. "Get some sleep, Cally. You too, Vila. I'll call you if anything happens." Weary hours dragged by. Blake didn't realize he'd dozed off in his chair until he felt Gan gently shaking his shoulder.

"My turn, Blake," Gan said. "It's almost like posting a guard, isn't it?" He smiled briefly, then grew serious again.

*****

Avon didn't want to open his eyes. He had failed; he was still alive. He couldn't bear to think of Servalan gloating... Wait. He had a sudden, vivid memory of Servalan, not gloating, but astonished. And someone else, kneeling beside him... "Blake?"

Gan jumped when Avon stirred; he had been on the verge of dozing off himself. "Avon," he said with relief. "It's me, Gan. Blake was here, but it's my shift now." Avon opened his eyes, squinting painfully even in the medical unit's dim light, trying to look around. "You're on the Liberator. You're safe now." Avon closed his eyes, sighed, and relaxed for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

"Thanks."

"It's us that should be thanking you," said Gan awkwardly. "For holding out on the Federation, and--"

Avon interrupted him. "I wasn't holding out. You just arrived at an opportune moment before interrogation proper began. Believe me, I am not an altruistic idiot like some others I could mention."

"You don't fool me, Avon," said Gan. "The others, they're smart. So they listen to what you say, and try to reason it out. They might not believe it, but you confuse them so much they don't see past your words. I'm not smart. I just look at what you do. You fixed my gun for me. You sent us back out into the corridor when you suspected a trap, and probably saved our lives. I know you tried to explain it away by insulting Vila, but I wasn't listening."

"It's a pretty theory," said Avon. "But that's all it is."

"Oh? We came in at the tag end of your last conversation with Servalan, and I couldn't hear what you were saying. But I know what you did, and what that meant. You'd rather die than betray us." He stood up, heading for the door. "I'll get Cally, now."

"You're right, Gan," Avon said suddenly.

Gan turned. "I am?"

"Yes, you're right. You're not smart."

Gan shrugged and turned back toward the door.

Avon spoke again, very softly. "But you are wise." Gan paused, turned, and smiled briefly. Then he went to get Cally.


End file.
